Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
The plan gets laid out entirely, and it is imperfect to say the least, but they are right about a lot of things.
It won’t be good if a secondary team shows up.
Carter’s comment was a prophecy, not a joke.
If anyone figures me out, I’m toast more than likely.
Hell, if these guys figure it out, my leash will shorten so much it might as well be a noose.
Second, there isn’t any other way to get a virus into their system except by getting inside one of their buildings. And I’m right when I tell them that this isn’t going to be as cut and dry as they think . . . especially not after the gala.
The Agency is going to be on alert.
William hasn’t stopped side-eyeing me since I got back in here. Giving York that little peck on the cheek has William’s wheels turning, but I can’t worry about that right now. There are bigger issues at hand.
The best time to pull this off will be near the end of the day, so we only have a couple hours at this point to load up and get there.
After this, though, we won’t be coming back.
I’m not sure where they plan to go, and I’m likely not included in the exit strategy, so I’ve made my own plan for if things go that way.
“This is yours for the time being.” William hands me a long case. “Let’s set it up together once to make sure you’re good to go when we get there.” He starts unzipping the case.
I pull it from his grip and walk into the living room where I lay it across the coffee table. Opening it myself, I find a sniper rifle. Zipping it closed, I sling it over my shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
“Hm.” He slings his own case over his shoulder. “You sure?” His eyes flash with something unfamiliar, and he steps around the low table. “As I said last night, I’m happy to help. There is no reason we have to continue being . . . at odds.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, I believe you.” I grab the black duffel off the floor. When I stand to walk out, he blocks my path.
“We both know I had a good reason to shoot you.” He brushes my hair back. “Even if you never say so to anyone else. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret . . . even from York.” He exhales. “There is no reason we can’t bury the hatchet, though. You happen to be growing on me.”
“Weird how that happens after I get half-naked in front of you.” I roll my eyes and shove past him. “If I’m burying a hatchet, William, it will be in your skull at this point.”
He smiles broadly and grabs my arm, running his other fingers down the strap over my shoulder. “Is that your way of telling me you’re a one-dick pony? My understanding was that Ravens were versatile.”
The first thought I have is to punch him, and the second thought I have is what York said: stop letting him get to me.
William must have heard us last night. I doubt he needed to see that little kiss to confirm anything, but he’s using it as an excuse now to proposition me.
Interesting that he thinks implying I’m easy will get him somewhere.
I let out a deep breath and adjust the collar on his black jacket with my free hand.
“Is that your way of telling me Babylon wouldn’t let you bend her over, and now you think I owe you one?
” I tsk quietly. “Being told no by two ‘professional sluts’ must be so difficult for you.” I lean in closer and drop my voice.
“I thought cowboys were supposed to have manners, but maybe that only applies to the real ones.”
His expression falls flat, and I move around him.
The air outside is cool and breezy as I step out the front door. The scent of leaf rot fills the air, and orange and yellow leaves rain from the half-bare trees surrounding the house.
York takes the duffel from me as I walk out to the car and puts it in the trunk with the other gear.
I lay my rifle on top, and then wait outside while they do a final sweep of the house.
William and I are outfitted with tactical vests and sidearms before we get in the car, and within the hour we’re back on the highway.
Thankfully, William is driving with August riding shotgun.
If I had to sit next to him, I might just stab him.
“What’s the play?” I ask August, who’s wearing a suit.
He slides on a pair of glasses and looks back at me. “I’m there for a meeting.”
“At a black site?” I say doubtfully, and he shrugs, turning back to face the front. “Tell them Agent Jeffries asked you to meet him there.”
“Who?”
“Trust me, most of them will know him or at least have heard of him.”
“Yeah.” William laughs. “And what if I splattered his gray matter all over the floor at the gala? Mentioning him will give him away immediately.”
“I didn’t see Jeffries there that night, and if he saw me . . . he would have tried to kill me.” I look out the window. “Besides, I’m not that lucky. I wish he was dead. Trust me.”
“Jeffries,” August repeats with a nod. “Don’t worry about me. Once I’m in there, I’m on my own. Just make sure I can get back out.”
“Don’t worry.” Carter exhales. “I’m going to make it a circus outside. No one will be paying attention to you at all.”
I love the confidence, and I hope he’s right.
We don’t have enough intel to be moving on this location.
It would have been better to plant an infected flash drive and wait for it to be used, or to at least attempt to hack the system externally before resorting to this.
Even blackmailing someone to upload a virus would be better than this.
I sink into my seat heavily and let the uncertainty settle like a stone in my gut.
I’m more than capable of this; that isn’t the problem. I’m far more able than I let on, but there is only one person in this vehicle I trust other than myself, and every time I acknowledge that I do trust him, I feel like a fool.
“Just relax,” York murmurs as he rubs the side of my leg discreetly with the back of his fingers. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst, and be ready to pivot.”
“That’s just it.” I shift my attention from the scenery to York. “We have no plan for the worst.”
“What do you think is the worst?” Carter asks.
“Someone gets caught.”
“Not killed?” he says dubiously.
“Trust me when I say getting killed would be easier on everyone else and a mercy for the victim . . . This might be American soil, but if you think the Agency won’t torture you like they’re 1960s Vietnam guerrillas, you’re fucking wrong.”
“Can always rely on the Yanks to uphold the Geneva Convention,” York says sarcastically.
I double-check the ammo in my vest with a snort.
“Get off your high horse. Don’t pretend like you don’t have waterboarding going on in your basements too.
” I shake my head. “At least I’m not pretending to hold some moral high ground .
. . None of us can. The Geneva Convention doesn’t apply to clandestine operations, anyway. ”
The vehicle falls silent, and I slip on a ball cap, fishing my ponytail through the back of it. At least if I get caught, I have leverage. None of the rest of them can say the same.
“We aren’t worth capturing,” August says. “We have nothing to give them.”
“But they don’t know that,” York points out. “And if they get us, they get one up on Britain. We don’t need them getting evidence against us before we expose what they’ve done, or they’re going to look like the fucking victims.”
“They’ll take you to get me,” I say firmly. “I won’t take it personally if you crack under torture though.”
“Very funny,” William says quietly.
“I’m not laughing.” I stare until his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
The Agency isn’t going to capture them and put them on the world stage and accuse Britain of breaking alliances—that’s not what they want. They’ll try to pump them for information that leads to me, because I’m their biggest threat, but I wonder if they even know that now that Russel is dead.
Did my secret die with him?
It could go either way. It could be in a file somewhere . . . on a drive. It’s better to assume they all know. Just because Russel is dead doesn’t mean his orders died with him.
We drive by the building, and I lean over Carter to peer out the window.
The building across the street is under construction, getting a facelift apparently, so there is scaffolding up.
That’s where they want me. I can’t be on the scaffolding, though; it’s too exposed.
I’ll have to find an accessible window somewhere.
“What’s in that building?” My fingers start combing over my vest to check I have everything.
“Residential,” William says.
Great. A million potential witnesses to contend with on top of the fact that most of the place will be inaccessible.
William is headed up to the roof of a building off the nearby square.
It’s farther, but an easy enough distance for a sniper of his caliber; plus, it will give him a shot at any approaching backup that might come.
We drive around the block and park at the curb, where York slides out first and pulls my gear from the trunk, handing me the soft case that I sling across my back as if it were a guitar.
I don’t look discreet, and as the clock ticks toward the end of a usual business day, I have to get off the street before it gets busy.
“Be careful,” he says, closing the trunk. “I need you to exfil as agreed. I need you to be at the meeting point. Do you understand?”
“You’re very good at saying a lot without saying a lot.” I look into his eyes, and neither one of us is smiling. “How much do you really need anything from me?”
His brows pinch together as he stares at me, and it makes him look younger, vulnerable.
All the things flitting through his mind, I can see them.
All his thoughts are a flash on his face.
I imagine he’s wondering if I’m dense. How can anyone be so clueless to emotions?
Does she really not understand me? Has she not believed a single thing I’ve told her?
How can I make her trust what I’ve said?